Silph Chronicles: Dialogue of the Wind and the Sea
by VARUSU
Summary: Young Solomon wrestles with his feelings toward his father, the corrupt president of Silph Co., amid run-ins with criminal syndicates and the International Police on his journey through Johto. Newly restructured!
1. Prologue I

Author's Note: Hey, thanks for the interest in my fanfic! This story takes place 40 years before the first game, in the Pokémon world's equivalent of the 1950s. Older canonical characters (for example, Fuji) might make an appearance as their younger selves, but since most characters in Pokémon canon are younger than 40, the cast will be made up almost entirely of original characters. The story begins in Kanto, but will eventually span most, if not all, of Johto, as well. Now, without further ado...!

* * *

 **Prologue I. From Dawn 'Till Noon**

* * *

The pressure on Solomon's leg had slowly drawn him out of sleep. He could feel the soft, gray light of predawn tugging gently at his eyelids as it filtered through the window of his shack. It disoriented him, for it was far from the cool and comfortable darkness in whose cover he was used to waking.

"You're late," he chided, eyes still closed.

"Thought I'd let you sleep," came Lavera's reply. They had been up the night before putting the finishing touches on renovations to Lavera's Gym in town, and Solomon had taken to bed quickly after the long walk home. "Brought something to wake you up."

Solomon's eyelids, still heavy with sleep, fluttered lazily open as Lavera's palm retreated from his ankle. He waited for the blear to dissipate before noticing the brief container papered with colorful designs in Lavera's hand. "More tea?"

"You'll like this one," the old fisherman retorted.

Solomon smiled and sat up on his cot as Lavera drifted to the stove corner to prepare their tea. Through the window, he spied a groundskeeper starting off on the first sweep of the day. He tried to recall what time his mother usually woke, but working as Lavera's apprentice usually meant rising with the sun and being out in town all day, and he had long since lost tempo with the mansion proper. Recently his time inside was limited to the meal he shared with his mother each day as a condition of his residency in the outbuilding closest to the main road. Today, it would be a late lunch, or maybe dinner.

Turning his thoughts to breakfast, Solomon shuffled his way over to the squat coffee table he had borrowed for what little dining could be done within his shack. "It was strange, I had that dream again last night," he remarked to his teacher as he went.

Lavera seemed to be paying careful attention to the brewing process, and offered only something of a "hmm" in response. Solomon didn't bother to repeat the prompt; the dream was recurrent and Lavera was already familiar with the details. It almost embarrassed him to have mentioned it, as he had thought himself too old for nightmares until waking up from one just a few hours ago. If the dreams came back to stay, at least this time he would not be helpless to confront them, for he was ready and willing to master his fears as per Fuji's suggestion.

"Here we are," Lavera's words pulled Solomon out of thought as the old man brought their tea.

Another green tea, he saw gazing down into the offered cup, but a yellower green, not as pale or opaque as the last they had shared. Neither as astringent, he gleefully noted after a tentative sip, with a broth-like texture that coated the tongue and a lingering sweetness which combined to give the drink a pleasant savory aftertaste. He confirmed his findings with another sip.

"This is amazing!"

"I told you you'd like it," Lavera said with a toothy grin. "A little more subtle than your usual, I know, but it's got depth and staying power."

Solomon's taste for roasted tea was a holdover from his early childhood at the mansion, where the cook made pots of it at tea time so Solomon could enjoy a cup with his mother while consuming no more caffeine than his little body could appreciate. The light, toasty sweetness and distinctive ochre hue that were also side effects of the roasting had made hojicha, as it was called, particularly attractive to his childish eyes and palate, especially in contrast with the strong, bitter character of other green teas, so it had remained a favorite of his over the years such that his frequent spiriting of old tea leaves from the mansion back to his shack for roasting had become something of an in-joke with the kitchen staff.

Recently Lavera seemed to be trying to steer Solomon away from hojicha, bringing jasmine and matcha among others for tasting, but the results had been mainly (and respectively) hit and miss. Probably there was some ultimate kernel of wisdom he hoped to instill in his usual roundabout way. Solomon had his guesses, but it was hard to tell whether it was chiefly a matter of gracefully shedding his youthful habits or simply staying open to new experiences. Regardless, with the potency of this most recent brew, Solomon felt his palate threatening to mature.

"Where have you been keeping this stuff, teacher?" he inquired eagerly. "It's a shame you didn't bring it any sooner."

Lavera's grin diminished somewhat. "Actually, I had been saving this just for our day off," he explained. "It's called jade budew. They grow it out in the sticks in Hoenn mostly, place called Verdurf, if I recall." He scratched his temple unassuringly. "Starts with a 'ver,' anyways. I won it in a challenge the other week, one of those upstarts from Saffron. You know the type." He paused with a mirthful twinkle in his eye. "Told me he didn't even know how to brew the stuff and asked if I'd accept it as prize money!"

That last part elicited a chuckle from the both of them. Solomon knew the type, and it meant the tea he sipped was far outside his normal price range. Money wasn't an issue for his family, of course, his father being in many capacities a 'Saffron type' himself, but the boy took after the townspeople and was far too modest to ask. Nowadays the only money he spent was what he earned working under Lavera or battling, and that wasn't likely to land him a steady supply of jade anytime soon.

"I understand, teacher," said Solomon, trying his best to hide his disappointment, "just this once is perfect."

"Oh? How big of you." Lavera's grin returned with a slyness as he stroked his pale beard. "But you know, I might have enough leaves left over for another pot. Maybe one of these days..." He looked off beside him at nothing in particular.

Solomon's face lit up. "You're too generous!" he chirped.

The old man laughed heartily and flourished their half-full kettle. "Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves, eh?"

Solomon nodded, still beaming, and accepted his second cup of jade.

* * *

Conditions were perfect for leisure sailing; the waters were calm, the winds normal and the clouds scarce. At a comfortable eight knots, they had gone about as far as they would go all day before slacking the mainsheet to drift leeward, cast their lines, and enjoy the lapping of the waves upon the hull.

Their partner Pokémon had been eagerly awaiting their arrival at the beach near the southern port and insisted on accompanying them out to sea, as usual. Lavera's Kingler was keen to join them in recreation, rooted at Lavera's side with his own crude fishing pole (not more than a stick fastened with reel for trolling) clamped tightly in claw. Having served in effect as Querencia's mate and able sea-mon for the better part of her career, though, he was compelled by force of habit to leave his wooden charge every so often and go tottering fore and aft, punctiliously probing the rigging with a practiced pincer and nimbly adjusting the jib to any changes in wind.

In contrast, Solomon's Seadra had little interest in fish and even less interest in the art of sailing, preferring to go diving down in the water close by whenever the boys set to angling. She had taken it up as an avenue by which to indulge her developing nose for shiny things hidden in the sand of the seafloor - scales and pearls, lost treasures, even the Mystic Water that invariably hung round Solomon's neck - but eventually she had come to enjoy her little strolls down in the deep even when she ultimately came up empty-handed. Today, however, Tatsumi dove feverishly, with a strength of purpose that precluded such extravagance, and already she'd recovered two blue shards and a heart scale in her efforts.

She never seemed to grow attached to the items she found, offering up the lot for the humans to pick over instead. To the old Water expert it was easy to guess why she gave up her treasures so easily, obvious what she was really looking for and what she would like to do with it, but for the inexperienced Solomon, who had never trained a Pokémon besides his precious Tatsu, Lavera felt it would be too much responsibility. Tatsumi was mischievous and stubborn as a Seadra, and too many things could go wrong were the little beast endowed too soon with the power of a Kingdra, power enough to enact great whirlpools with a yawn. Luckily, she wasn't likely to find any Dragon Scales on their little excursions off the coast of Cinnabar, and Solomon had so far remained none the wiser.

There was one place Lavera could think of that was sure to boast a supply when they were ready to evolve her, but the journey was longer than any they'd taken together, and dangerous besides. Between finding somebody to run the Gym in his absence, obtaining permission from the boy's parents, and overcoming his personal qualms about putting his pupils in danger, the forces working against the trip weighed heavily on Lavera's mind. Still, with each trip they had already taken, the boy returned more conscientious and well-rounded, closer to adulthood and to competence. Solomon had come away from the great port at Vermilion with a broader appreciation for technology and transportation; from Fuchsia's curated preserves with a more profound respect for natural habitats; from the wilderness of Pallet with a maturer perception of solitude. Surely the journey through Johto would engender even grander growth.

Lavera turned his gaze to the cloudless expanse above after losing a bite to inattention, letting his thoughts fade for a moment. Bathed in the warm rays of the sun with a late summer breeze blowing over him, carrying the salt of the sea to his nostrils, he came to the familiar notion that there was no finer feeling. Soon he felt Solomon's eyes on him, and then felt them leave as Solomon followed his gaze to the sky. They sat like that together for some time, foregoing their lines and simply enjoying their surroundings. Neither wore a watch, for they were used to telling time by the position of the sun, and so the passage of time became almost imperceptible. They were interrupted only once when Tatsumi came to the surface, delivering a small pearl from her tubular mouth in a forceful jet of water; both looked back towards the horizon as she immediately dove down again.

"Almost time," came Lavera's first words since they had first cast their lines. It always felt vaguely sacrilegious interrupting the enchanted, meditative silence that stood between them while they fished. Solomon was probably the most speechless fishing partner Lavera had ever had. Even stoic Kingler was known to blow bubbles and solicit the odd head scratch after hours adrift, but Solomon said nothing without fail. It had been that way from the start. Lavera wondered if perhaps Solomon had been uncommonly impacted by the time-honored tradition of telling children to stay quiet in fishing boats, lest they scare the fish away. Whatever the case, it was not without its virtue. Lavera knew better than anyone how centering it was to be able to spend time in one's head out at sea.

"Yeah," Solomon at last replied, still looking wistfully up at the sun, "I always wish we could stay out longer."

"Overstay your welcome and the sea'll give you skin like mine," Lavera countered. Solomon's gaze shifted as Lavera pulled on his own leathery cheeks, veritably cured from years of salt and sun. "Beef jerky!" Lavera chuckled at his own joke until Solomon, himself thoroughly bronzed from years of shadowing Lavera, broke down and smiled. "Besides," he added, "I was talking about your Seadra." He motioned to Kingler that it was time to set sail again and the mate kicked up his stubby legs and got to work. "Well, the other thing is also true, but what I meant was that it's almost time she evolved."

"It's time she… What?" Solomon's eyes went wide and he stared back at his mentor about as disconcertedly as Lavera had expected. "But I thought she was already fully evolved!"

"Nonsense. Who ever told you that lie?"

"Well, nobody. I just figured if Seadra had another evolution I would have seen one by now."

"Think about it, Solomon. It's a second stage evolution. How often do we see those in the wild?"

"Almost never," he admitted, "but you're a Gym Leader, teacher. You've got tons of water Pokémon and I've only ever seen Horsea and Seadra in your collection."

"Well, Seadra is a special case among Water-types. Not only does it need time in the hands of another trainer, but it must also be exposed to the scale of a dragon Pokémon. It's difficult to get your hands on one without an expert's help, and dragon specialists are few and far between."

"A dragon's scale… That's what Tatsumi's looking for when she goes down?" Solomon asked keenly.

Lavera nodded his affirmation.

Solomon stared down into the water as he contemplated the new information. Without looking up, he asked, "How are we going to get our hands on one if they're so rare that even you can't find one?"

"Patience, boy," Lavera chided. He stood up and stretched his old bones before motioning aft to Solomon. "Why don't you man the rudder? I'm going to tell you of a quiet city called Blackthorn in Johto."


	2. Prologue II

Author's Note: One of the characters introduced in this chapter speaks French (or "Kalosian," if you prefer), but I don't. If you're a francophone and something I've written sounds weird to you, feel free to let me know so I can do the language some justice in the future!

* * *

 **Prologue II. L'Internationale**

* * *

"All jokes aside, I'd like to thank you for your ultimate cooperation, Mr. Aihara."

"I don't have anything else. Let's just get on with this."

The breakthrough had finally come that morning, about an hour after sunrise. The information Daichi had given up would surely prove indispensable to the right people. Still, Daichi's ilk spoke frequently enough in half-truths that regardless of how helpful he had been thus far, his captor had seemed reluctant to conclude their dealings, perhaps wary of missing out on some critical piece of information. Under an icy gaze, Daichi had started bracing himself for another round of questions when Crow finally responded.

"Bien sûr," he said with a sigh. "Once I've removed your restraints, you'll be free to leave."

Daichi eyed the dark figure across from him with equal parts suspicion and surprise. It was an obvious ruse, but to what end? He opened his mouth to question, but no words came. Dreadful anticipation welled up in him as the figure rose and made its way to his side of the table and past it, occupying its familiar space just outside his field of vision. The chains which bound his wrists behind him were rattled a bit, almost threatening to come loose, but quickly fell silent. Daichi's chest tightened amid the stillness and he realized he was forgetting to breathe.

"You know, my friend outside didn't want this to end, said you were too tasty," the figure said, tapping the side of Dai's skull with a muted chuckle. "Lucky she doesn't get to make the decision, huh?"

Daichi's heart rate quickened as he was reminded of the white-maned horror standing just outside the cabin door. He struggled to disguise his fear as his lungs subtly fluctuated between breathless bunching up and hyperventilated heaving. "Enough mind games," he managed to articulate, "I already told you I don't know anything else. I'm no use now-"

"Do you really think I want your blood on my hands?" came Crow's whisper in Dai's ear. "I had always planned to cut you loose," he lied, "in my own best interest, of course."

Either more manipulation or Crow really was going to throw him to the dogs - Daichi didn't know which implication was worse. His meager store of subtlety had long since run out, and he wished more desperately than ever that he still had his Weezing and could order it to Self-Destruct right then and there. Hell, he'd been self-destructing all day as it was. Anything would be better than running back to the boss with his tail between his legs. After a week of Crow's hospitality, he would be more than happy taking Crow and that damnable Hypno both in one last hurrah. Presently let his temper slip.

"You're kidding me. You were just gonna let me go? After all this? I vouched for you, not to mention I just told you everything! You want me to go back to the syndicate and act like nothing happened? You were the only one they weren't a hundred percent on, and I vouched for you!" His voice began to crack, as much in fear and desperation as in anger. "When my crew comes in and we're the only ones missing, they're gonna know what happened, and then we're both going down, whether you like it or not!"

Daichi stopped and tried to bring his focus back to breathing. A satisfying vision of Crow's cabin reduced to cinders still hung in his mind, but he already knew it was pointless making threats while he was still tied to a chair in the middle of nowhere. At least he had been able to vent, something Crow would never have allowed a day ago. Maybe there was an angle he wasn't seeing. Otherwise, why let him go after all this time? Would there be pleasure in seeing him get ripped to shreds or thrown in jail by someone else? No, cutting ends loose sheerly out of spite wasn't Crow's MO, despite the air of mischief that he constantly gave off. He was a professional - half the reason Daichi'd vouched for him in the first place - so why avoid the path of least resistance now?

"Come on, Crow, even if I'd played the stand-up guy to the very end, vouching for someone like you makes me a permanent problem," Daichi reasoned. "What am I hoping for? Getting chased, if I'm lucky? When guys like me are forced to leave the business, we don't just walk away clean and you know it. No, we get picked up on the way out and put away for everything we didn't do and then some. You let me out of here and my life is over, sure as if you'd killed me yourself."

"Then we're on the same page," Crow responded, amused, "but what if there was a way to turn our little zero sum game into, how would you say, a net positive?" His voice came from further away now. Daichi had a mental image of Crow sliding back against the shadows on the wall behind them, pointed nose held high. It was a natural look, smug and sinister, just like his namesake.

"What exactly are you getting at?" Daichi probed through half-gritted teeth.

"I can protect you, Daichi - from the courts, le syndicat, and anything in between," came the voice in his ear again.

Daichi's hands might have trembled were they not still tightly bound behind his chair. For all he knew, there was no way Crow could deliver on a promise like that, but the resurgent implication of there being something more made his heart race once again. This had to be the angle he'd missed, the angle that Crow had probably been playing all along. From the moment he'd arrived at Crow's lonely cabin in the woods, he had been hard-pressed to invent an outcome other than death - a bad end by Crow's hand, worse by the syndicate, or worst of all in prison. The week in captivity had stretched on like years as he came to agonizing grips with his mortality, and now on the day he had planned the agony to end, ready to take the fall like an honorable gangster, only now was Crow offering a way out. He was playing into Crow's hands and he knew it, but little by little his morale was rising. His composure returned, though his heartbeat didn't slow one bit. He ached to know more about Crow's proposition, but he didn't want to seem too eager. Surely he could summon up some surplus subtlety to save his own skin. Maybe if he tried to call the bluff...

"You're slipping," he said, "KPF doesn't bargain with informants and regional courts don't do plea deals."

Daichi could almost feel Crow smirking in the darkness. "I don't recall answering to either of those," came the snide rebuttal.

That confirmed it. If Crow was working outside the purview of the Kanto authorities, then he might actually have the extralegal authority to ensure Daichi's protection. In that case, it didn't matter where it came from. Freedom was being dangled right in front of him, and he was damn well going to swallow what was left of his pride and snatch it up while he could.

"Let's say I believed you. What would you have me do?"

* * *

"Might you have been followed?"

"Do not patronize me."

"Not at all, Docteur. It's just that my little bird told me there were two of you headed this way and yet here you are, all alone." A lone Murkrow loosed a haughty cackle as it wheeled down from on high, alighting on the gable.

Doc summarily humphed as he laid eyes on Crow's sardonic bird. "I assure you I have not been tailed. Also, you may wish to find a lookout more discreet than that bombastic thing. Between the obvious circles it flies around this clearing and the night shade it was casting in broad daylight, not to mention that incessant squawking, it practically led me right to you."

The insulted party flared its wings indignantly and piped up, but was tutted mid-caw by its master, recoiling on its wooden perch. "Corneille, _vous peu crétin_! 'On sunny days unfit for shade, let humble haze obscure the glade.'" Crow's accent made the mantra sound less grave than he had probably intended. "Apparently ten times is not enough. You will repeat this one hundred more times if you would like your lunch today." Corneille's black wings fanned out gently this time as he cocked his head and let his beak hang open while staring pleadingly down at Crow. "No buts, monsieur!" came the salt in the wound with a wag of Crow's finger. "Now get to work." The bird let out an anguished caw but did as Crow commanded. Ascending from the gable, it began emitting gouts of gloomy fog with each flap of its wings while imitating Crow's voice in its croaking rasp, struggling to land the rhymes with faithful nuance.

"Ouf! It kills me, having to be hard on him," Crow wearily confessed with Corneille out of earshot. "He does not have to say it all one hundred times, though. I just had to get the ball rolling."

"I thought you liked abusing things."

"Only human things, Docteur. But he is such a stubborn bird. The more important my advice, the quicker he forgets."

Doc laid a gloved hand on Crow's shoulder to take advantage of the unexpected candor. "Good medicine is bitter to the mouth, indeed."

Crow reciprocated Doc's gesture, but his usual smirk had returned. "If only you were a real doctor, I might have taken your word for it."

Suddenly their attention was seized by a rustling in the bushes near the edge of the clearing.

"Here comes Memphis," said Doc.

"Or maybe yakuza."

"We shall see." His hand retreated from Crow's shoulder and plunged itself deep into the folds of his overcoat while he sternly addressed the brush. "You in the bushes! Reveal yourself and you will not be harmed."

The rustling commenced all the more violently, accompanied by a strange frenetic whispering.

"I never go higher than three," he continued, "so you had best move quickly. One..." The vocalizations grew louder as Doc started his count. "Two..." He could have sworn he heard an 'ouch' amid the ruckus. "Three-"

"Aw crud, hold your horses, will ya? I... I'm stuck!" Memphis's exasperated outburst just prevented the use of Doc's weapon, which sheathed itself so swiftly that hardly a glint could be seen.

" _Zut alors_! I hoped he would dispatch you," Crow snickered.

"You and everybody else, but I-ouch!-I ain't dead yet!"

"Try not to jinx yourself," said Doc. Then, with a reluctant Crow, he made to extricate their partner from the brambles.

* * *

"That is not what I said. If he is willing to testify, then that of course warrants his protection. I had simply hoped your prolonged interrogation would bear sweeter fruit than just another witness to babysit."

"Ah, but it has, Docteur. With all that time to pluck his brain I knew there would be something in the little details. You see, the sheer number of monster-related shipments our deadbeat reported handling all but confirms Silph involvement."

"Silph Company?" Memphis looked up from picking the remaining thorns out of his clothes. "No kidding."

"You almost sound surprised," said Crow.

"Nah, nah. They were on the list. It's just they sell to kids, ya know? Leaves a bad taste in my mouth to think they've been outfittin' poachers and cons, too."

"Sometimes those markets may not be as separate as you think."

"I thought we had decided not to trust this list," Doc interjected.

"More like you decided," Memphis replied.

"Indeed. Now that we are three for three, I'd say this 'Big Five' theory is more compelling than ever," Crow added.

"Where do we expect to find the other two if prior testimony rules out Kanjoh Railways and Baltoyo?"

"Investigating Delta led us to Viridian Electric and to Daichi's outfit, and now Daichi has brought us to Silph. Our next move is pretty clear."

"I'm with Birdbrain on this one, Doc. Best we keep our wits about us, but keep divin'. Wait until we hit a real roadblock to consider changin' our tactics."

"Hmph. I understand. Just keep in mind that expunging the five sloppiest of them only to rest on our laurels would accelerate the process of natural selection. I, for one, refuse to be the vaccine which precipitates the supervirus."

"'Course we can agree with that, now. Can't we, Crow?" Memphis knew better than to give Doc an excuse to lecture.

Crow shrugged his shoulders silently.

"Let us move on, then," said Doc. "What is Daichi's status at the moment?"

"Sleeping like a baby," Crow responded. He pointed with his thumb back towards his Hypno who loomed quietly in the corner, watching them with the thin, smiling eyes characteristic of her species. "Sophie has graced him with a dream of mother's cooking. His reward for playing nice. Gaspard has not left him since we got here, either, though I doubt he noticed."

Sandslash bristled at the mention of Crow's Haunter. Memphis likewise felt a cold spot and resisted the impulse to shiver.

"Hey, what's with all this 'deadbeat' talk?" he complained while pulling on his shredded duster. "Man's been through enough abuse already."

"Ah, but he will need a code-name, will he not? Deadbeat will do just fine."

"Like hell. Ya can't just decide for everyone what we'll be callin' him."

"Let it die, Memphis," Doc interrupted, "all I wanted was a status report."

"Okay, okay. So what's our next move?"

"That depends. How did things look east of Pewter?"

"Scout here says it's all clear up until Cerulean city limits." He leaned down to scratch Sandslash beneath the chin and the spiked creature beamed with pride.

"Excellent. You and Crow will hold out here and escort Daichi into Pewter after nightfall, then proceed through Mount Moon to Cerulean. While there, I need you to set up a liaison with Saffron PD to coordinate our investigation of Silph Company. Do not leave Cerulean until this is done."

"I'm curious what you'll be doing in the meantime, Docteur."

"Diglett's Cave, then south to resupply in Fuchsia. I have business further on."

"Business?" Crow burst into laughter. "More of your ninja nonsense, you mean. _Je te jure_ , you are obsessed." Corneille flew in the open window and joined him for the fun of it.

"All, er," Memphis cleared his throat uncomfortably, "ninjas aside, the land ends there in Fuchsia, Doc. Ain't no further on unless you plan on sailin' off to Cinnabar."

"I do, in fact, knowing what we know now. An old estate on Cinnabar was bought some years ago by none other than Silph's president. Aside from housing his wife and child, the mansion he restored functions as a go-between for various collaborators."

"Hot damn. Honeypot like that might be worth the trek."

Doc uttered a rare chuckle. "We shall see."

"Will you say hello to your Fūma friends for us when you get there?" asked Crow, still coming down from the peak of his laughter. Corneille honked obnoxiously at Doc and caught a scolding from his master.

"That we shall also see."

"You really gonna leave me with these cuckoos?" Memphis asked as Doc got up to get his things. The latter humphed, tipped his hat, and continued pulling on his coat.

"Don't be scared, mon desert rat. Why, you've got yer trusty dang ole good ole spike mole to protect ya, after all!"

"Yeah, well, ole Sandslash here's probably booked more crooks than your sinister menage-a-tra combined."

Crow snorted as if caught off-guard before bursting into laughter once again. Corneille cackled, too, and Gaspard's cold spot returned with a vengeance. Even Sophie held her hand below her nose, her head bobbing up and down in silent laughter.

"What's so dang funny?" Memphis asked, looking back and forth twixt Doc and Sandslash for support.

Doc stiffened up and cleared his throat, and Memphis got the notion he was doing so to chase away a smile from beneath his scarf. "I do not think that phrase means what you think it means," he offered, and with that, he made his exit.

Memphis turned beet red and shoved his hands into his duster's pockets after Sophie beamed him an example of its proper usage.

"And your pronunciation could use some work besides," Crow added smugly.

"Least I got the 'three' part right."

* * *

"Hey, Crow."

Some part of his partner must have heard him, for a heavy snore resounded from beneath his wide-brimmed hat.

"Birdbrain!"

Crow jerked awake, feet clumsily clattering over the table they had rested on, his hat falling from his face to the floor.

"What? What is it? Deadbeat's up?" he asked, squinting over in Memphis's direction without really seeing.

"Nah, just gettin' dark."

Crow rubbed his eyes with one arm and extended the other as he stretched out in his chair. He smacked his lips a couple times to alleviate the dryness before looking out the window into darkness.

"So it is. I'll rouse him in a minute." He picked up his hat and laid it over his face again, folding his hands across his chest as he leaned back.

"Crow?"

"Mm."

"Ya think Doc's one of them ninjas?"

Crow laughed sluggishly into his hat. "It's certainly possible."

"Come on," said Memphis, drawing up a chair. He turned it backwards and sat with his legs to either side, folding his arms over the rail. "You're always laughin', but we're in ninja country, ya know? There's a history here. I mean, I thought the whole thing was just a gimmick at first, but there's this town in Johto. Folks call it 'home of the ninja,' and it's right over there, right on the other side of those mountains." He looked over in the general direction of Mount Silver. "This Fūma business can't be that hard to believe, not in a place like this."

"I suppose it's not." Crow lifted his hat with a sigh and sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "But that is funny in itself, wouldn't you say? That something so absurd could actually be feasible. Oh, what I would give to see the Milieu clash with knights of yore."

"Now that would be a sight to see." Memphis let his head fall down into the cradle of his forearms. "Something's been eatin' me awhile, though. If Doc _is_ a ninja, how do we know he's not workin' with Fūma?"

"You sound just as paranoid as he does," Crow laughed. "Knowing him, we won't find out until it's already too late." He stood up lazily and trudged on over to the inner door, his languid lumbering exaggerated by his lanky frame. "Take your own advice, eh? Keep your wits about you, but keep going nonetheless. It's all any of us can do."

"Guess you're right."

"They were your words, fool." Crow rapped on the door with his knuckles. "Gaspard!" he called, "we are on the clock. Bon appétit!"

"Then I'm right and you're derivative." Memphis got up from his chair and knelt down by the table under which his Sandslash lay, still curled on its side in a dead sleep, and gingerly reached forth to land a few broad slaps upon its unprotected stomach. "Wake up, partner. Eggs and bacon."

The creature's straining squeak was complemented by the scratching of its spines as it stretched out against the wood and came to rest, draping one of its heavy claws over Memphis's hand tenderly. Sniffing the air and blinking its beady black eyes, it let out a second squeak that undulated downwards, disappointed to detect no eggs and bacon whatsoever.

"I know, I know. Better me than Daichi, though."

As if on cue, an awful shriek resounded from the inner room, followed by Crow's laughter and faint honking from outside the window.

"That never gets old," said Crow as he opened up the door and went inside to brief their new companion.

Moments later, he returned with a short, pale man in tow who looked about as bad as Memphis had expected, despite not actually being scratched. His suit was crumpled and his dark mop of hair a frayed and oily mess. The bags beneath his glassy eyes were noticeably blackened, even in the darkness of the moonlit cabin, and he seemed to shiver every now and then as if he'd recently been dragged out of a freezing pond and hadn't quite warmed up yet.

"Cheese and rice, the man looks dead, Crow."

"Y-you're with him?" asked Daichi without moving, staring straight into Memphis's eyes. He sounded a lot younger than he looked, and there was a note of anticipation in his tremulous voice that communicated a mix of hope and terror.

"That's right, boy. They call me Memphis." He spoke slowly, trying to come off as reassuringly as possible. "We're gonna getcha someplace safe tonight. Okay?"

Daichi nodded almost imperceptibly before Crow shoved him forward, urging him to speak.

"Now you quit that, Birdbrain!" chastised Memphis. Crow just laughed. "It's okay, boy. Gonna be a long walk. Are you ready now?"

"Ready as I'll ever be, I guess," said Daichi.

"There's that Deadbeat spirit!" said Crow, putting on his hat and strolling out into the wood.

Memphis got up to hold the door open, motioning Daichi to follow Crow. "I hope you never have to see this place again, boy," he admitted. "Truly do."

"S-same here."


	3. Chapter I

**Storm Winds**

* * *

"Rain Dance!"

The water rose in compact swells as Enishi's Gyarados whirled across the surface. Disjunct stratus clouds chased each other round in tandem with its writhing prayer, congealing in an updraft. Gorging itself on the moisture in the air around them, the nascent cloudbank started growing fat and heavy. When it seemed fit to burst, it reached its smoky fingers over the island, blotting out the gibbous moon and veiling Cinnabar in shadow. Only then came the downpour.

Enishi shut his eyes and brushed back the hood of his raincoat, feeling the first drops on his skin. Behind him, his Electabuzz had slumped its shoulders, turning its face toward the sky. Its fur stood on end as it sensed the negative charges accumulating above, the faint blue glow of its own charge already straining to make contact, whetting its appetite for lightning. Calm and comfortable in their element, master and monster exhaled in a simultaneous release of tension.

"Careful that you don't catch cold, young one," came a voice from up above.

"A wise man once told me that a healthy mind begets a healthy body."

"You heard with only half an ear, or you would know the opposite is also true!" The senior shinobi hopped down to meet Enishi on the deck, his great beast of a Pokémon hot on his heels.

"I was only teasing, sensei." Enishi shook some of the rain out of his hair, covering his face as Ikazuchi vainly mimicked him.

"As was I. But you must remember that you are no longer a student. Such honorifics are beyond you now, my boy."

"Of course, um, Lord Azuma. I'll try to be more mindful."

"No, that will not do, either," said Azuma, deftly assuming a lotus position and closing his eyes. "Join me in meditation, if you will."

"Is this really the time?" Enishi asked. Nonetheless, he stepped into seiza with some difficulty, owing to the slickness of the wood.

"For mindfulness, there is no better aid," Azuma answered. "Now, I know it is more… elusive a concept than your physical training, but there is a certain mindset to be cultivated before one can reach the full potential of our office. Beyond humility and arrogance, the shackles of bureaucracy must be cast off altogether, especially among clansmen. Even the elder, whose whim breathed life into our station, is neither our better nor our lesser so long as you and I are Winds. Do you understand this?"

"I guess," Enishi sighed. "Shared authority and all. But you and I get to go out and get our feet wet. Fine by me. I just don't know why we have to dress it up. I mean, we got this mission directly from her, right? Not like we could realistically refuse. That's fine too, though. I'd rather be a loyal right hand than a toe with delusions of grandeur."

"It is more a matter of functional equilibrium than equality, per se," Azuma elaborated, his eyes still tightly shut. "That we are immune to strictures of form and formality to which the elder is expected to adhere, we relinquish many of the benefits of our position in the hierarchy. Our rapport with the elder distinguishes us as higher than the highest jōnin, yet we are expected to behave like strangers, and thus lower than the lowest genin. Bringing together these distinct roles in one office, we can achieve a level of agency and flexibility unsurpassed by ordinary people. More yet, even by our fellow shinobi. This is what it means to blow freely as a Wind of Fūma."

"Hey, Azuma," Enishi prompted, "now that I'm free from strictures and all, I can speak my mind without the usual pedantry, right?"

"By all means, do."

"I just wanted to say that I really hate it when you and the other geezers go on like this."

The elder Wind chuckled in such surprise that he broke his concentration and opened his eyes for a moment, drawing the attention of his Pokémon, who had been silently watching the storm alongside Electabuzz. "Not wasting any time, knocking old Azuma down a peg, hmm? Fair enough." Azuma's beast loped over and laid its gargantuan paw on his leg. Keeping one eye open, he found and ruffled the neck of his oversized lapdog, inadvertently releasing a foul odor from its wet coat that dispersed painfully slowly in the rain. "Maybe when you've played our role as long as I have, my philosophizing will feel a little less one-sided. In any case, should you need an extra hand, we will be close by."

"A hand with what?" Enishi scoffed, stepping out of seiza. "I expect the gym leader will be scared off by the type advantage. After all, my blessings are in force tonight." His words were punctuated by a flash of lightning overhead, followed almost instantly by thunder.

"Maybe so. Still, I have seldom known a storm to keep a seasoned fisherman from water."

Enishi turned away from Azuma's warning and whistled with his fingers, signalling his Gyarados to make its way back towards the ship.

"Enishi-some advice for your first mission as a full-fledged Wind: it is always better to overestimate one's adversaries. Make no unnecessary displays and it will never be said that you have bitten off more than you can chew."

"No more lectures, Azuma," Enishi said with his back still turned. "I'm no longer your student, remember? Ikazuchi! We're moving out." He pulled his scarf tight so that only his eyes and the bridge of his nose were visible between it and the hood, while his Electabuzz turned away from the sky and returned to its ball.

Azuma kept quiet as Enishi's Gyarados returned, rocking the ship slightly as it thrust its head towards them. Enishi's vaulted the railing and caught one of the fins on Sōryū's upper body. Straddling the serpent expertly to keep his balance, he spurred it into action and the pair began their fluid undulation toward the island.

With Enishi out of earshot, Azuma reopened his eyes and unfolded his legs to stand. His partner let its paw slide off, thudding faintly on the wood. "Suddenly I am no longer in the mood for meditation. It was good advice, though, wouldn't you say?" The monster rose to its hind feet and stretched, letting out a yawn that produced steam between them. "Hmph. That's what you always say. Off to the old estate, then! I've always wanted to see it for myself. Besides, we'll not be outpaced by the rookie and his sopping squad just yet, will we, old friend?"

Entei loosed a mighty roar and let its fighting spirit burn, drying instantly as waves of heat rolled off its coat and formed a barrier which sizzled as it came in contact with the rain.

"Aha!" Azuma's neck cracked with a satisfying pop as he finished limbering. "Now that's what I wanted to hear."

* * *

Solomon jerked upright to the sound of thunder, clutching at his neck and gasping as he struggled to resume a normal rhythm. Countless deep breaths later, he was conscious of the situation, and of the impact of the rain upon his rooftop.

"Why?" he asked himself. He was no longer afraid, so why?

Solomon had dreamt of drowning in the ocean for the second time in more than six years-the first time had been less than twenty hours ago. He willed himself to stand and tiptoed to his only window to survey the estate. Lifting the bamboo screen with shaky fingers, he was surprised at the intensity of the storm, especially considering how clear the horizon had been earlier that day. The front must have come from the northwestern side of the island, where its progress would have been obscured by the volcano.

Tying his worn jinbei jacket and pulling on its matched shorts, he set about the task of finding his umbrella. He was not keen on the idea of going back to sleep just yet, and it had been too long since he had gone out by himself; perhaps an aimless stroll would calm his nerves. He slipped into his geta at the door and ventured out into the low mist that had settled on the island.

The constant pitter-patter and the odor of the rain did much to soothe his spirit. Soon he had come to a high point on the lush path around the estate where, through the trees, he spied a cloud of inky black stretching up from the northern edge of town, barely discrete from the world of gray above. The smoke by itself did little to impact his brightened mood; the cause was no deep mystery, as he had seen plenty of lightning throughout the walk, and any resulting flames would likely have been put out already by the hammering rain. Still, it made the storm seem realer, the danger more tangible than he had previously thought, and he became increasingly worried for Tatsumi's safety. He chided himself over his sparing use of poké balls, embracing the urge to liberate her from the churning waves and keep her close at hand until the storm cleared.

Circling back, he reached the series of stone steps that ran down the promontory upon which the estate rested, down all the way to the street which ran along the harborside. The descent was much rougher than he had anticipated: twice he fell flat on his backside, painfully impacting his tailbone. Sharp as it was, it was not the decline that threw him, but that what smoothness there was to the well used stair was greatly exacerbated by the rain, so that the teeth of his geta seemed to wobble in a discouraging way with every contact. Even so, the traction they provided was probably better than anything he could have achieved with bare feet, and he wobbled on until the harborway presented itself.

"Tatsumi!" he yelled against the storm, "Tatsu!" but there was no response. The best case scenario saw her safely anchored to a patch of seaweed somewhere close by, but if not, her cumbersome fins would have to work against the rip tide and could possibly exhaust her to death. Already wet from his earlier slip-ups, he removed his top and bundled his geta inside of it. Then, he used the bundle to tie off his umbrella to a low rail, just low enough to grab on his way back up, before jumping down into the harbor.

Visibility was dreadful. The agitated water whipped sand without cease from the floor of the harbor, and it was so dark that Solomon could barely see his hands in front of his face as he swam. Momentary flashes of lightning were all that served to guide him as he combed every tuft and frond, searching unsuccessfully for some sign of Tatsumi. Halfway through his third dive, he was caught in a powerful flood jet which crushed against the wall of the harbor and made it impossible to surface. He found himself trapped once again in his childhood nightmare, floating in pitch blackness, near-immobilized as he slowly asphyxiated. Desperate for air, he kicked and clawed at the stones with as much force as he could muster, inching his way up until his fingers snagged upon a long and narrow object-his umbrella! It bent under his weight and the force of the tide, and for a moment he thought the cheap metal rod might snap, but lo, it held at a forty-five degree angle and he was able to lever himself just above the water margin. His lungs snatched greedily at the sudden surplus of air while he gripped the cane tighter to anchor himself as the water ebbed out.

It was no small satisfaction to learn that it was his own foresight that had saved him from a real life instance of drowning, but he would have to postpone celebration, for his thoughts returned to rescuing Tatsu as soon as he had pulled himself back up onto the harborway. As he retrieved his bundle and slipped under an awning to wring out his clothes and re-dress, focused on the sound of the rain hitting the tin while he calmed down, the thought occurred to him that she could possibly have beached herself and escaped the tide via the clumsy hop-and-hover she could do on land. It was a longshot, but certainly a more attractive prospect than being jerked around by the sea.

The beach north of port was the closest to him, but the rocks along the coastline stretching from the harbor were too treacherous to navigate in rain. Instead, he took to side streets after winding his way up the promontory via the main road, cutting a path through and around the old-fashioned market streets that littered the town. Nary a soul was in sight until he came upon the blackened site of Fuji's temporary research center at the edge of town, no doubt the source of the smoke he had seen earlier, where a lone policeman stood blocking the main road, standing watch from under a huge black umbrella.

"Mind your distance, kid!" the officer called out. "She's still burning in some places. Damnedest thing with all this coming down." He gently spun the umbrella in his hands and a sizable halo of water flew off.

"It's me, Solomon! I've got to check the beach for my Seadra," Solomon called back, pointing down another side street that led north.

"Solomon Steele?" the officer asked, sounding more than a little surprised.

Solomon was taken aback somewhat-he had hardly ever needed to confirm his identity to the local police before, much less on the basis of his last name. "Yes, that's me," he answered, "Lavera's student?"

"Oh, of course." The policeman seemed to catch himself, resuming his casual air just as quickly as he'd dropped it. He noted the bent umbrella in Solomon's hand and quickly offered his own. "If you absolutely must proceed, then come on under here and I'll escort you."

At first, Solomon was eager to accept the offer, but as he drew close enough to scrutinize, he realized why the officer had not recognized him. It seemed the man, too, realized that the newness of his face was cause for concern.

"We haven't met yet, I know. My name's Toshi. I just transferred last week from the main branch in Saffron." He gave a slight bow which Solomon didn't return.

"A week is a long time here," Solomon said.

"Is it now? Well, I've been taking some time to settle in, keeping to myself, mostly." The man waved his hand, further brushing off Solomon's point. "Tonight is actually my first night on the job. Getting watch on a night like this… Just my luck, huh?" he asked with a friendly chuckle. "Hey, you really are soaked through," he noticed as he stepped closer. "Why don't I get you someplace dry and we can look for your Seadra when the storm clears?"

The stranger extended his arm, reaching out to grab Solomon's shoulder. Solomon tried batting the arm away with his umbrella, but it was yanked from his hands and he took off running instead. He could just make out footfalls behind him over the noise of the rain, ducking down a few more side streets in an effort to lose the man before bolting up the main road as fast as his legs would take him. After he had gone a ways out of town he looked over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being pursued anymore and slowed his pace.

Whoever that man was, he was most likely not a police officer. Solomon had a sneaking suspicion that the man might have set fire to the research center, but why? Did he have something against Fuji or the rest of the research team? And why would he hang around dressed up like that just to turn people away? Whatever the case, Solomon did not stand much of a chance against him alone. Beside that, the beach was just up ahead, and he still had to find Tatsumi.

Relief set in immediately after setting foot on the black sand, for there he spied a friendly pair of pincers trotting its way up the shore in the distance. If anyone could help him, it was Kingler.

"Hey! Have you seen Tatsu?" Solomon asked once he had caught up.

Kingler paused its crab walk, shifting its uncanny gaze to Solomon. With a click and gurgle, it seized him by the wrist, resuming its trek northward. Solomon quickly fell in, awkwardly attempting to conform to Kingler's sidelong gait. He did not much mind being manhandled by Lavera's first mate; in fact, he felt safer in its iron grip than anywhere else on the island, and for good reason. They came to a small canopy of natural stone at the base of the treeline, and his wrist was promptly released as he knelt down to get a look inside. Tatsu was out cold beneath the shelter. He reached out to stroke the pleats of her belly-a little dry, but at least her breathing was regular. Kingler seemed to have mixed a few clawfuls of grass in with the sand around her, serving as makeshift bedding.

Solomon was about to express his immense gratitude to the mate when the latter began growling in its clicking, gurgling way. He turned and followed Kingler's gaze to a shadow on the treeline further down that started moving as soon as he laid eyes on it.

"What a surprise. I was going for an ambush, but it seems your Kingler's quite the watchdog," said the cloaked figure emerging from the brush. His voice was young and vital, almost cheerful without losing any of its power, and certainly in stark contrast with his baleful carriage and dark clothing. Kingler clacked its pincers as a warning, deepening its growl to a low rumble. "Well met, Solomon Steele."

"You must be with that other guy," Solomon figured aloud. "Did you burn down Fuji's place?"

"You know, when Toshiie said the heir to Silph had tried to club him and ran off, it set my expectations kind of high," the figure continued, "but now that I look at you, I'm guessing you were just too scared to react any other way. Do I have that right? Explains why you went this way instead of going back for help, too. Not how I pictured the big, bad president's son, but then again, I've never seen the guy-maybe it's hereditary. I guess that would make your dear old dad a bit of a Napoleon, now wouldn't it?"

The man was waiting for a response, but Solomon was too utterly confounded to come up with one. He hadn't spoken to his father for the better part of two years, and yet, whoever these men were, to them the merest mention of his last name was enough to justify pursuing him clear out here. It felt like his throat was drying out, but he was loathe to swallow, despite the fact that it would have been virtually imperceptible amid the storm.

"Well, humor was never my strong suit," the man admitted. "I'll give it to you straight: you're down an umbrella and too far from town for anyone to hear you scream. Just call off your Kingler and surrender, okay? As much as I'd enjoy a scrap, it will be easier for everyone this way."

"What? You're crazy. I don't know what business you have with my father, but I have nothing to do with him, so just leave me alone!"

The figure let out an exasperated sigh. "That's not how it works, Solomon. Whatever. I gave you the choice. That's all that matters."

Solomon tensed as the man raised his hand. He was blinded in an instant by a flash from high up on the treeline and deafened an instant later by the accompanying boom. Reflexively, he threw his hands up over his face, but it was already over by then. Mere feet to the left of him, Kingler had likewise raised its claws in an attempt to shield itself from the hundred thousand volts that had been channeled through its body, briefly illuminating everything around it. Presently it went dark and only an afterimage remained. Solomon could feel a piercing heat still emanating from Kingler's direction, and the hairs on his body were standing on end. As his senses readjusted themselves, he noticed Kingler was miraculously still conscious, though judging from its ragged gurgle, it had taken heavy damage.

"Sturdy creature," said the figure, sounding a mix of impressed and annoyed, "weathering a Thunderbolt. Once more, Ikazuchi!"

This time Kingler scooped up a heap of wet sand in its claws, blasting it straight above them in a Mud Shot. Solomon winced when he saw the flash from the trees again, but the oncoming bolt was scattered, albeit explosively, into the falling mud. He heard a series of quick crackles, accompanied by a tingling sensation in his feet, as the energy from the attack dispersed itself throughout a radius of sand around them.

Smart, too, Enishi thought. One of us is gonna have to keep that thing busy.

Having already anticipated the order, Ikazuchi sprang from where it had been slinging thunderbolts atop a palm tree, a veritable blur of yellow and blue-white that slammed into the Pincer Pokémon with one loud smack. Its opening Quick Attack proved largely ineffective thanks to Kingler's solid exoskeleton, but it forced its foe on guard, giving Enishi time to make his own move. As it loosed a flurry of low kicks and electrified jabs which Kingler struggled to defend against, Enishi raced down from the treeline, bounding over Tatsumi's shelter and lunging with the heel of his palm aimed at Solomon's chin. Solomon backpedaled quickly enough to transform the blow into a shove to the shoulder, but lost his balance, falling on his backside for the third time in the last few hours.

"Let's just get this over with, shall we?"

"Wait!" Solomon cried. "Trainers aren't supposed to attack each other!" Even as he said it, he knew how childish it sounded in this situation, but it was all he had.

"What? That Kingler is enduring pain for both your sakes! Are you saying that you wouldn't do the same for it?" his attacker barked back, settling into a partial squat. "Get up and face me like a man."

Hardly better than the laughter he had half-expected. Solomon could dive right into storms and rip tides without fear, but he had never fought person-to-person before. He scrambled to his feet and tried to put some distance between them, shouting for help as he ran.

"Coward! I told you, nobody can help you now, so fight!" Enishi easily outstripped him, circling into stance and blocking the way back to town.

Opponent inching ever closer, Solomon reluctantly put up his fists.

"Those researchers aren't involved with him, either," he said. "Burning down the lab and then coming after me… What are you even trying to accomplish?"

"Man, do you need a clue," said Enishi. "Alright. Land a hit first and I might consider answering."

Expecting the challenge would prove easier said than done, Solomon became acutely aware of an oncoming adrenaline rush as he planned his attack. After a few short moments, he could hardly feel the cold despite being completely soaked through, and his sense of time constricted just enough for the feeling of unreality to set in. It felt strangely glamorous, like a woodblock print showcasing a great battle out of folklore, a singular scene of conflict as the trees bent and rustled miserably in the wind and the waves angrily swept the sand behind the four of them, rain falling in sheets so that every time the scene was lit with lightning they all glistened brilliantly.

Harnessing the dreamy atmosphere to will himself past fear and self-doubt, Solomon advanced, attempting to bypass his foe's guard with a sloppy replication of a roundhouse kick that he had seen once during a martial arts demonstration. Enishi, however, nimbly dropped into a low sweep, ducking the blow while simultaneously kicking Solomon's leg out from under him.

"Too slow," he taunted. Then, he adopted a more serious tone. "No random headshots at your level-you must damage my stance first. Try putting pressure on your opponent's legs and you will close the gap in speed over a long engagement."

Solomon had fallen hard on his back; it was not as painful as the last fall thanks to his adrenaline cushion, but it knocked some wind out of him. Coughing and still reeling a little from the impact of the packed, wet sand, he rose to his feet. "Long engagements? What happened to just getting it over with?"

Solomon lunged, throwing a half-hearted punch with his clenched fist, but Enishi was ready for him. He shifted his body perpendicularly to his attacker's and stepped back smoothly so that Solomon's punch connected only with raindrops. Before Solomon could stop himself, Enishi grabbed his forearm just below the elbow and gently pulled upwards; momentum did the rest, exaggerating the follow-through and knocking him off-balance yet again. Keeping a hand on the arm to steady his target, Enishi launched a slight uppercut, ramming his fist directly into Solomon's armpit, and the boy crumpled into a heap on the ground, shortly losing feeling from the shoulder down.

"Fine, then. If that's the way you want it," said Enishi, taking a few steps backward to prepare, "there will be no more delay-ah!"

He halted his startup just in time to dive away from Kingler's Crabhammer, which caused an eruption of black mud between them.

"You again! Ikazuchi!"

Ikazuchi staggered to its feet from where it had been decked, shaking its head to rouse itself. Noticing its master's plight, it took the opportunity to ready its Thunder. It pointed a finger into the air through which its energy spilled out, mingling with the electrons above and around them, scouting out a downward path between the stormclouds and its foe. Before the bolt could drop, however, Kingler charged and caught Enishi's right arm in its larger claw, wrenching him onto his back in one motion. It quickly straddled him and tucked its legs close to his body, keeping its pincer clamped tight; Enishi's eyes widened as he realized what it hoped to accomplish.

"Wait!" he shouted, struggling to free his arm from Kingler's Vice Grip, "Ikaz-!"

But it was too late. The bolt of electricity that penetrated Kingler's shell and fried it from the inside out was passed into the ground just as before, only this time it was passed into Enishi first.

Solomon had never seen a person seize up and convulse like that, nor Lavera's cherished Kingler sustain so much damage in a single fight; when they both collapsed into the mud, it set his lower lip atremble. Stumbling to Kingler's side and putting an ear to its mouth, he was able to detect the slightest whisper of a gurgle.

"Only fainted," he breathed with great relief.

Groaning, Enishi shifted to his left side, causing Kingler to slide off, before completing the roll to his stomach. "Ugh… How does a wimp like you bring up a Pokémon like that?" He tried clutching at the sand with his right hand, but switched to his left after grunting in pain. "Damn claw must have clenched hard when we got hit," he said as he pushed himself up. "Can't be helped." He slid into stance once more, left half facing forward as his right arm hung limp at his side.

"You're gonna keep going? Even after that?" Solomon asked. The feeling was returning to his arm, but it was of little consequence, for his adrenaline and will to fight were fading fast from shock.

"Oh, please," Enishi scoffed. "I train against my Pokémon every day. What kind of sparring partner would I be if all it took to clean my clock was one measly Thunder?" Still, he thought, it never gets any less painful.

"I… I don't want to fight anymore," Solomon said, still shaken.

Enishi slowly straightened up and dropped his stance. Perhaps facing him like a man had been too much to ask. He had been holding back, of course, but it still felt unwarranted, beating like this on a kid whose only crime was having been born to a scoundrel like Alexander Steele. Solomon did not seem to have any combat experience, after all, and Enishi had been nursing a suspicion that the well-trained Kingler lying at his feet was more a result of the gym leader's guidance than Solomon's own skill. If only the boy hadn't bolted to start with.

"Alright," he said, "I get you. Come here."

Solomon rose and shuffled his weary way across the sand. As he came to a stop, he stared off past Enishi's shoulder to avoid making eye contact, lids growing heavy with the fading of adrenaline. As it happened, his gaze fell on a man-shaped silhouette moving towards them in the distance. At first he thought it was the fake officer, come to aid his comrade in spiriting Solomon wherever they hoped to take him, but with the help of a squint what he had thought was a large black umbrella began to look more like a conical shade hat. Someone else, then. He thought about shouting for help, but he had already resigned himself to whatever happened next.

"Just sleep," said Enishi. And with that, he punched Solomon hard in the gut, just beneath the solar plexus.

As the wind rushed out of him, Solomon sank to his knees, clutching the arm of his vanquisher to keep from falling flat on his face. His eyes were beginning to swim, but he tried to keep sight of the shade-wearing stranger, close enough now to discern the vivid blue patterns adorning its short robe. "Teacher?" he mouthed, but no sound was produced. Soon, vertigo reached its peak and he lost his grip on Enishi's arm, letting himself fall unconscious into the mud.


	4. Chapter II

**Cinnabar Standoff!**

* * *

Enishi wondered if Azuma's first mission as a Wind had been as troublesome as his own was proving. The man in the fisherman's robe had crept up while Enishi had taken care of Solomon and faced him down without a word, his figure blurred amid the driving rain. He did seem wary of Enishi's Electabuzz, hovering a few feet outside of Ikazuchi's effective range. Enishi guessed this figure was the island's gym leader, here to rescue his pupil from the storm.

"Envoy of the demon wind!" the man suddenly shouted. "I am first obliged to bid you hello from a colleague of mine. Secondly, I wish to proposition you. Surrender yourself on my count, and I give you my word that you will not be harmed."

A gust whipped past them as the man spoke, tugging at Enishi's scarf and hood as the words sunk in. The importance of what had been shouted was immediately clear, for Enishi had come to expect the same kind of romanticized language from Azuma in their talks as of late. 'Demon wind' was close to one meaning of Fuma, and if this man knew Fuma, he was a much bigger threat than Enishi had guessed. His plan to shoo the gym leader away was crumbling by the second.

"Ha! You mean to capture me? Ridiculous." Enishi spoke up merely to distract the gym leader whilst he palmed the dagger he had hidden in his sleeve. Solomon's value as a hostage necessitated a non-lethal resolution to their conflict, but the man who stood before Enishi now had no such luxury. Yes, it was better to dispose of him so long as he had any knowledge of Enishi's organization.

"Peacefully, I should hope. Otherwise, I must warn you now: I never count higher than three," the man continued.

"You're making a mistake, gym leader." Enishi scoffed.

"Hmph. We shall see. One!" The man reached into the folds of his robe, readying a weapon, or perhaps a Poké Ball. Ikazuchi crept closer in response, tentatively putting the man in range.

"You don't really think-"

"Two!"

Enishi was flustered by his lack of readiness as his attempt to intimidate the man and derail the countdown proved fruitless. Waiting out in the open for a fight to begin was hardly his MO, and his opponent seemed to recognize his frustration with subtle glee. Azuma would probably have pushed negotiations outright in order to win his opponent's trust, or at least formulated an actual plan of attack instead of barking frustratedly until the last second.

"Listen! Why don't you just-"

"Three!"

Enishi didn't have time to formulate another approach as a slew of projectiles came quietly whistling towards him, one after the other. He swept with his dagger, batting the first away with a _clink,_ and two more went wide as he moved, but the fourth and the fifth sank into his legs like the fangs of a viper. When he glanced down, they seemed as the sharp ends of nails sticking out of him.

"Needles?" he realized, pulling one from his left thigh and tossing it aside as he looked for something, anything to use for cover in case of another volley. He sprang back and knelt against Kingler's shell, using its armored body as a shield while he pried the other needle from where it had buried itself beside his right shin. Meanwhile, Ikazuchi went in to defend the perimeter as the man in the fisherman's robe removed his geta and adopted a more obvious fighting stance.

The wounds were not as deep as Enishi had thought, but he was far from unscathed; already a burning sensation was spreading from the impact points, followed closely by a faint ache in his muscles. It felt almost like the onset of a bad cold in the lower half of his body. What was worse: as the burning spread, the areas it left behind began to feel numb. He had to make a move before paralysis set in.

"Cover me!" Enishi called. No sooner than Ikazuchi moved to oblige him had the man thrown out a Poké Ball.

"Nidoking, defense!" he said. The violaceous beast he summoned wailed and stamped its feet with fury as Ikazuchi's Thunderbolt rolled down its insulative hide, dispersing ineffectively.

Enishi looked back upon the scene with obvious surprise. By all accounts, Cinnabar's Gym Leader was a Water specialist, so why would he send out a Poison- and Ground-type? Perhaps it was a clutch pick carried just to beat Electric-types. Nevertheless, Ikazuchi would be hard-pressed to dent the opposition, and with the feeling slowly draining from Enishi's legs, he decided it was time to pull out all the stops. Pushing his tongue back with his thumb and forefinger, he whistled as loudly as he could, hoping Soryu was close enough to hear. Then, he reached into a pocket and retrieved the ball which carried his Parasect, releasing it behind Kingler as Ikazuchi used its speed to try and wear down the opposing Nidoking.

"Matsu! Find the poison!" he informed the parasitic fungi. Matsu turned its white eyes knowingly to his legs and reached out with its pincers to assess the affected areas. Enishi felt two pinpricks as it sampled each impact point, pulling its pincers back to its face as if to smell or otherwise inspect the agent. It jittered somewhat, dropping its pincers back into a neutral position as its head retreated a little way under the mushroom, and a cloying scent drifted towards him on the wind, briefly overwhelming the pervading petrichor that covered the island.

Matsu's Aromatherapy would not heal any tissue damage, but it would at least neutralize the poison and restore full control over his legs. Like a miracle, the mix of pain and numbness in his legs vanished in seconds, leaving behind only a soreness to impede his movements as he stretched. The pleasant smell helped clear his head, too.

"Earth Power!" Enishi heard the stranger calling out behind him as gouts of golden flame erupted from the mud to light the scene. The Nidoking must have had Ikazuchi on the ropes already.

"Great work," he told Matsu, calling it back to its ball; it would not be much help against a Poison-type. He stood and reached into his jacket for another ball, but had to stay his hand after he caught a glimpse of rapid movement from the corner of his eye.

The stranger was upon him, having circled around Kingler to Enishi's right side, probably to take advantage of his damaged arm. Enishi turned just in time to take up his dagger and mount a defense against the incoming flurry of kicks. Enishi deflected a split-second snap kick from the stranger's left leg and ducked low to avoid a thrust kick from the right, but his reflexive low sweep did not go over as well this time as it had with Solomon - the stranger gracefully jumped over it, turning in the air as water droplets flew from his robe, and used the momentum from the landing to launch a spin kick with the left foot. The spin kept on going until the stranger came back around with a roundhouse which came dangerously close to Enishi's temple as he leaned back on his ankles to avoid it.

The blistering combination was about to be capped off with an axe kick centered on Enishi's collarbone, which had opened itself up during his lean; Enishi transformed his backward lean into a shaky handspring to evade as he realized he could not block the incoming blow, and mud flew out in all directions as the stranger's heel smashed into the soft ground. All of his opponent's strikes had seemed to come out so fast that Enishi hardly had time to even think of countering. He recalled what he had told Solomon about attacking the opponent's legs as he dug his feet into the sand, feeling the soreness in his thigh more grimly than before.

In these close quarters, Enishi could see past the scarf and the shade hat and straight into the piercing eyes of his opponent, and for a moment he was spellbound, caught like a deer in a headlight. Curiously, his opponent did not press the attack, merely shuffling backwards and taking the opportunity to address him.

"I am disappointed," he said. "You are at least competent, and I could see that your arm was still hurt from before we began, but even so; is this really all that Fuma-nin can offer?"

The man seemed to have such an interest in Fuma. How much did he know, exactly? Enishi mused for a moment on the poisoned needles from earlier; the man even fought like a ninja. Enishi's youthful pride swelled as he lifted his chin in defiance.

"I am Inazuma Enishi, one of Fuma's four Winds!" He shrugged his right shoulder. "Never mind this, and never mind our last exchange. I was only feeling you out, you see. If I really wanted to, I could kick your ass with both hands tied behind my back."

"Hmph. Such bluster," the man said almost mockingly. "These Winds are respected within Fuma?" he asked, hardly expecting an answer so much as thinking out loud while puzzle pieces snapped together in his mind. "And the north, south, and eastern Winds... Do their monikers follow a similar convention?"

Smart as a whip, the man was, to have seen through the codename so quickly. Enishi normally meant 'fate', but it also contained _nishi,_ 'west', and it was for this reason that Fuma's west Wind chose it as his cipher, just as Azuma, 'east', reflected the position of his teacher. The man caught on too quickly for Enishi's liking.

"Enough prodding. I've given you my name - I'd say it's time you returned the gesture."

"Very well," the man said as he straightened up. "My given name is Kurosawa Kyo, esteemed Leader of Fuchsia City's Pokémon Gym," he began somewhat facetiously. "But I am also the fifteenth _sōke_ of Koga-ryu, and it is for this reason that you may henceforth refer to me as Koga."

The first part explained why the man had answered to 'gym leader' despite not being Cinnabar's, and the strength of his Nidoking besides, but to Enishi, the revelation that followed was of far greater importance. Koga-ryu was an ancient school of ninjutsu that originated in the mountains of Johto, and this man claimed to be its sōke, its headmaster. That explained everything - his interest in Fuma, his fighting style, his type choice, even his clothes, which Enishi presumed now to be a disguise - neatly enough that it came just short of tying everything up with a pretty pink bow.

Enishi's fingers drummed along the handle of his dagger as he considered that the keeper of another ninja school was more valuable to them alive. Members of the revived Fuma clan were among the most effective spies in the underworld, it was true, and furtive enough that few on the outside even knew of their existence, but much of the old knowledge had been lost for centuries; what little they knew of ninpo was gleaned from dusty manuscripts or doled out piecemeal by old-timers like Azuma. Fifteen generations of Koga-ryu would place the start of the school not long after the rise of the Koga clan itself, so it was possible this Koga fellow had received firsthand training in skills and subject matter dating all the way back to the heyday of shinobi, when their craft was honed to its keenest. Capturing him could be Fuma's greatest chance to reconnect with their roots and channel real ninjutsu, and Enishi was loathe to squander this chance. But capturing was always more trouble than killing, and the soreness in his legs had only gotten worse since their last exchange.

"Well, master of Koga-ryu, might you consider giving yourself up to me? Given time to work something out, I'm sure you'd find our friendship rather lucrative," Enishi proposed. "Besides, we relics of the ancient past must band together in these changing times," he added, taking a page (a word-for-word transcription, in fact) from the book of Azuma. The satisfaction he felt at finally having found a practical use for Azuma's sentimental ramblings helped to take his mind off of the shame of admitting (in a roundabout way) that he would probably not stand a chance of capturing Koga if it came down to force.

"Are you... attempting to recruit me?" Koga said with a derisive chuckle. "What gall! Egregious pretenders to ninjutsu such as yourself are a stain on the legacy of shinobi. Therefore, I must reciprocate your earlier refusal of my offer for surrender, one thousand fold."

Enishi grit his teeth and tightened his grip on the dagger. It was clear now that his enemy had brought up Koga-ryu not to illuminate the common thread between them, but merely to rub his pedigree in Fuma's proverbial face. He was getting a better picture of who Koga was as a person, already growing to hate it. Enishi had always hated men who strutted around with an air of impunity, wearing status and breeding like armor against the consequences of their twisted worldviews. Yes, it was to put men like Koga in their place that Enishi had joined up with Fuma in the first place, at least in part.

"If that's the way it is," he said, "then I guess we're right back to where we started."

"Indeed," Koga responded. "Now, if you are finished 'feeling me out', we can resume in earnest - that is, no hands tied behind your back, please."

Koga sprang forward to make the first move, but Enishi never got the chance to intercept, for there came a mighty roar and whoosh of spray as Enishi's Gyarados exploded out of the water and onto the shore beside them, black mud trembling from the impact of its massive frame. Not a movement was wasted as it channeled the force of its landing to bring its powerful tail hurtling towards Koga, swatting him across the beach and into the brush with it as if he were no more than a common fly.

"Soryu!" Enishi cried. Even through the noise of the storm, Soryu had heard his signal. With his strongest partner back at his side, he stood a much better chance of escaping the island with at least Solomon in tow. Leaving Koga to his own devices was less than ideal, but situations in the field only ever seemed to turn less and less ideal as the clock ticked down, and considering Koga's interest in Fuma, Enishi had a feeling they would meet again. He took the opportunity to recall Ikazuchi, now fainted on the other side of the beach, and then trotted over to where Solomon lay to check on his condition. The sleeping boy was muddy and shivering slightly, but otherwise intact. Just as Enishi was about to load Solomon onto Soryu's back, Koga staggered out from the bushes.

"N-ngh…!" Koga clutched at his side in pain as his call was cut short. He seemed to be refocusing his breathing to mitigate the shock to his body, and made no further moves to close the gap between them. Soryu's tail had undoubtedly leveled the playing field as far as injuries, and it would be foolish to press another engagement with a few freshly broken ribs nagging at him all the while.

"Nidoking, assault!" Koga finally yelled.

Koga's Nidoking charged forth instantly from where it had fought Ikazuchi on the other side of the beach, slamming into Soryu with all of its might. It was all Enishi could do to sling Solomon over his good shoulder and hurry them both to safety as the two Pokémon thrashed about, flinging chunks of sediment everywhere as they wrestled for dominance. The purple beast seemed to be matching Soryu's strength at every turn, in spite of the sheer size difference. Powerful as Koga's Nidoking may have been, Enishi guessed that a well-placed Aqua Tail would be enough to put it out of commission, at least with the boost from the storm still in play. Enishi quickly laid Solomon down under the jutting stone canopy he had vaulted over in their fight and set to watching for the opportune moment.

"Nidoking, disengage and drop Thunder!" Koga preempted, and his Nidoking immediately tossed Soryu sidelong into the mud. Electricity arced from Nidoking's horn into the sky as Soryu writhed in the mud in an attempt to right itself. Even from a more physically-inclined Pokémon like Nidoking, a full-power Thunder could have incapacitated Soryu in a single hit, and with cloud coverage for miles there was no way it could miss; it seemed Koga wished to take his own advantage from the weather before Enishi could make proper use of Soryu's strength.

Not taking any chances, Enishi pulled out another stop and played his counter-card immediately, taking a Poké Ball from his coat and throwing it high into the air.

"Kaya!" he called out as his Jolteon landed gracefully atop Soryu's head. Knowing what was expected of her, Kaya leapt up as the clouds flashed above, ensuring she was at a higher elevation than Soryu. Nidoking's yellow bolt burst out from the sky and came seething downwards, only to be intercepted by Kaya's spiky yellow fur and harmlessly assimilated into her own power supply thanks to her Volt Absorb ability. Once more, she landed gracefully atop Soryu's head, nimbly adjusting her footing to avoid falling off while Soryu in turn balanced its head upright, just as they had practiced together with their master dozens of times before. It was a powerful combination that covered the major weaknesses of each Pokémon; Soryu was protected from pesky Electric attacks with Kaya standing by to intercept them, and Kaya was practically invulnerable to Ground moves while riding atop Soryu's head, meaning Nidoking wouldn't be able to wipe the floor with her as it had with Ikazuchi.

Eyes flickering between Koga and Nidoking, Enishi noticed that the latter had come to a complete stop while the former briefly deliberated their next move. Looking back on it, he realized the same had been true of the rest of their fight as well. It seemed, then, that Koga was the type of Trainer who valued discipline over adaptability in Pokémon. For his part, Enishi had always encouraged his partners to decide their own courses of action in the absence of orders, and it was continually paying off at just the right times. Indeed, just as it paid off in that moment when Soryu seized the opportunity to strike at Nidoking with its rain-boosted Aqua Tail, sending the latter hurtling down the beach until it crashed into the mud, unconscious. Enishi couldn't help a vindictive snigger as he relished his advantage.

"Looks like the tables have turned!" he shouted downwind, but Koga looked untroubled.

"There are more where he came from," came the latter's cool response as he recalled his Nidoking to its black-and-gold ball. Koga reached inside his robe and produced two miniature Poké Balls sporting the same coloring between his fingers, activating a trigger which ballooned them to normal size in his palm before tossing out one after the other to deliver their occupants to the battlefield.

Enishi's smugness faded slightly. One of the factors that contributed to the effectiveness of his Gyara-Jolt combination was that so few Trainers dabbled in Double Battles outside of League play that the average Trainer would opt to stay in their comfort zone and send out one Pokémon at a time against Enishi's two. It hadn't entirely clicked until then that Koga, being a top-level battler, probably had a good deal more experience coordinating two Pokémon than Enishi.

Enishi confirmed a Victreebel and a Weezing as Koga's Pokémon made their entrance. Kaya could probably handle a Weezing without help from Soryu, but the Victreebel resisted both Soryu and Kaya's most powerful moves. Perhaps… No, the disadvantage was too minor to warrant a substitution. He glanced back at the treeline to see Koga standing perfectly still, staring straight back at Enishi as if to say, "whenever you are ready." Koga knew just as well as Enishi that with both Trainers injured, the question of who captured who would be decided by their Pokémon. Enishi was down one team member, but so was Koga. That meant five versus five, since the latter was likely to have been carrying six Pokémon, too.

He took a moment to consider the advantages they still had over Koga. For one, the storm was still in play, and all of Enishi's team members were well-suited to take advantage of it. Secondly, there was the fact that Koga's Pokémon never acted without orders, which meant there would be openings throughout the battle whenever Koga took too long to relay them. As long as he was careful not to overwork his Pokémon, Enishi was certain he could prevail. Already he could see himself arriving back at headquarters with Solomon and Koga in tow, living trophies to commemorate his great success, but stopped short of imagining the celebrations in order to focus on the task at hand. Taking a deep breath and settling in for the long haul, he gave his first orders with all the confidence he could muster.

* * *

Darkness and cold. The veil of white noise that continually washed over Solomon's ears was pierced by a soft whinny as fresh cold sprung to life on his cheek. He kept still on his stomach as the cold trickled down his face. Not yet conscious enough to move, he began to drift silently back into the blackness of sleep. He was interrupted by more cold, however, a violent spray of it that got his body moving in spite of his half-conscious state. His frantic attempt to push himself up into a sitting position was thwarted as the back of his head smacked into solid stone with a resounding _thud_.

Solomon groaned, falling back on his stomach and massaging the back of his head with his hand. He thought he glimpsed Tatsu in the dark before letting his face sink lazily back onto the grassy sand that littered their refuge from the storm. One angry whinny and another Water Gun to the face and Solomon was fully conscious at last. He pushed himself up carefully so as not to bump his head again, and crawled over to where Tatsumi sat, picking her up under the pectoral fins which fluttered in excitement as he gently hugged her to his cheek.

"I'm so glad you're okay, Tatsu!" he said in a loud whisper. "For a while there, I thought the storm had gotten you." Tatsumi neighed coyly at this, thriving on the attention, but Solomon was soon preoccupied as he tried to remember what had happened before he'd woken up here. There was the fake drowning from his dream, the brush with real drowning in the harbor, the fake policeman, the beach, and Kingler and… That man! The man who tried to kidnap him. Solomon was covered in fresh bruises to prove he hadn't dreamt it, but then, why had he woken up safe in Seadra's little alcove instead of tied up in some evil outpost or something? He got his answer when a loud rumbling from further down the beach, several times louder than thunder, startled the both of them and rattled the stone overhead.

Solomon crawled eagerly to the edge of the alcove after setting Tatsu down to scan the beach for whatever had made the noise. Kingler was still fainted not far from his shelter, but further on Solomon could see several Pokémon which seemed to be engaged in a Double Battle; the Gyarados was unmistakable even from this distance, and there were two airborne Pokémon along with a third, grounded one that Solomon couldn't make out. Squinting through the rain, Solomon recognized the man standing behind the Gyarados as the man who'd tried to kidnap him, but the other Trainer was too far away to identify. He could hear the faint shouts of the Trainers now that he was listening more closely, no doubt caught up in the tricky task of ordering two of their Pokémon around at the same time. The two airborne Pokémon presently fell to earth amid a halo of flames that were rapidly being extinguished by the rain, and Solomon realized what had made the boom from a few seconds ago: the Trainer by the treeline had ordered his Weezing to use Self-Destruct, or maybe even Explosion, taking one of the other Trainer's Pokémon with it. It seemed only thanks to the interference of that other Trainer that Solomon had narrowly escaped being kidnapped.

Tatsu hopped into a small pile of grass beside him and sneezed as a few blades of it bounced up near her mouth. She leaned forward and sat transfixed by the battle that raged before them, anxiously tracking every movement of the Pokémon as if planning to jump into the fray at any moment, but Solomon had had enough excitement for one night. All he wanted now was to take Tatsu and run straight home, but the beach was a veritable war zone. He wished he could do something to help Kingler, but it was far too heavy to take with them, and its Poké Ball was still locked up at Lavera's house on the other side of the island. For now, the only way for Solomon to help Kingler was to help himself out of there. His gaze settled on the treeline, hatching a plan to take cover in the brush and inch their way around the beach towards the main road, bolting when they were close enough to town.

"Alright, Tatsu, I need you to be quiet for a little bit," he whispered, brushing his thumb and forefinger across his lips in a zipping motion as he looked into her eyes for understanding. She scrunched her eyes and sneezed again and Solomon decided that was good enough. He picked up her up and let her latch on to his forearm with her powerful tail before tentatively stealing out towards the treeline and freedom.


End file.
